


Feeling This (But Not In My Legs)

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - No Band, Angst, BB!Patrick, Bedwetting, Car Accidents, Drunk Patrick, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Middle School, disabled!patrick, idk what to tag?, jerking off, mentions of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick has an accident as a child that leaves him unable to walk. Pete kind of wants to know if the important parts still work...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There Was A Terrible Crash

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this is my first work here so kudos/comments appreciated :)  
> (title from the blink-182 song feeling this) EDIT: I made a tumblr for taking requests saverockandsoulpvnk & i'll try and write p much anything peterick especially in one of the verses I've already written :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: thanks a ton to charlie (radicalrumps) for beta-ing this chapter for me <3 hopefully it's at least understandable now :)  
> love y'all

He wasn’t sure what it said about him, but Patrick wasn’t really surprised when he blinked awake to his mother’s face and a big white room. He quickly decided it wasn’t heaven (he was pretty hopeful, that heaven didn’t stink of urine and antiseptic) and that he was therefore in a hospital.

That made sense. If he concentrated he could vaguely remember all the typical images that he assumed came with a car accident: screeching tires, some girl yelling, “Call an ambulance! Call a FUCKING AMBULANCE!” He grinned a little when he thought about hearing the _bad word_.

“…Patrick?” His mom said nervously. He smiled encouragingly at her and tried to reply “Mom!” but his mouth felt a little dry so he just nodded.

Before she could reply, an authoritative looking woman with the straightest hair he’d ever seen grabbed his chin, shoved her thin fingers around his eye, pulling it open and shining in a torch that left him reeling. 

“How old are you?’ She spoke quickly.

  
"Uh… nine?” It suddenly occurred to him that he could be, like, a fifty year old man with a wife and children. The only person in the room besides his mom and the doctor was some teenager with really greasy hair - not one hot lady in sight - so Patrick let out a small, relieved sigh when the doctor said, “Good. What’s the date?”

“Well last thing I remember was Saturday so Sunday? The 11th?”

  
The woman seemed satisfied with his reply and, happily, removed her fingers from his immediate vicinity. She took a few steps back and started scribbling on a clipboard. This already seemed like the beginning of one of those movies, so he really wasn’t shocked when his mom bit her lip. “Patrick, listen…”

  
He struggled to sit up, uncomfortable with so many faces leaning over him. He felt a coldness in his legs. Ripping the duvet back, he already knew what he would find - had in some way known since he woke up. He swallowed the lump in his throat, albeit small for someone his age coping with something like this; maybe he was in shock. When he looked up after a minute of staring, at his mom’s weak smile and teary eyes, the most powerful emotion he felt was sadness on her part.

  
“Huh. I guess the name Patrick Stumph has taken on a whole new meaning.”  
The sound of a choked laugh from his mom re-assured him as he struggled to stay upright.

***

“Mom!” He complained, “I’m eleven, seriously, I can take care of myself!” He twisted himself awkwardly and pushed her hands off the handles of his chair. She sighed and moved around the chair to face him. He tried not to watch the graceful movement of her legs with envy.

“I know, it’s just…” 

He sighed. “Mom, it’s not your fault. I just… I have to make a good impression. I’m already the kid in the wheelchair and it really wouldn’t help to have my mom push me in.” He fought tears in his eyes furiously. He was in middle school now and he did not cry. Besides, that would only encourage his mom’s fretting.  


After a pause, Patricia nodded wordlessly and brushed his bangs to the side. He batted her off, but with a laugh, and managed to feel okay. “I love you, mom," he said, blushing a rosey red. Before either of them could say anything even more embarrassing, he turned the chair awkwardly and wheeled himself through the gates and  _didn't_ think about a world where this was different. A world where he ran through the gates with all the other excited kids, most of whom had already gone in. Where the caretaker who was mowing the lawn didn’t fix him with a sympathetic look. 

A pathetic sigh escaped is lips as his arms worked overtime to get to class before the bell went.

 ***

He was late, which was just absolutely amazing. Nothing like twenty-five pairs of eyes filled with pity, surprise and occasionally derision, to wake you up in the morning. Patrick stopped wheeling when he got to the door to wave shyly. “I’m so sorry I’m late! Uh, I’m Patrick. Patrick Stumph, with a H.”

  
A few faces smiled warmly back at him, and the teacher softened her eyes at him. “I’m Miss Adams, your tutor. Take a seat, Patrick.”

Patrick remained still for an awkward moment as her hand flew halfway to her mouth as she realized what she just said. He thought he saw her mouth a bad word. A few titters erupted from the back of the class, keen to be in on the joke and not the butt of it, Patrick flashed a white smile (with a gap where he’d just lost his last baby tooth) at her bravely tried not to falter.

“I’ve got my own, actually. It’s super convenient in times like these," he said, hoping to sound just on the friendly side of cheeky. 

There were a few empty seats but his arms were burning so he just headed for the one closest to him. He struggled to get the seat already there out of the way when a boy (hard to make out under the enormous shock of curly hair that had obviously asserted its dominance over his whole body) got up from the chair next to the one he’d chosen.

“Hey, let me help?” The Hair murmured, trying not to attract the attention Patrick obviously didn’t want. He was torn for a moment: it was awkward and humiliating for him to accept help in such easy tasks but then, it was also awkward and humiliating to perform the tasks himself. His burning arms decided for him soon enough. “That would be super great, thank you so much.” He flashed a self-deprecating smile and waved his arms helplessly. 

“I’m Joe,” added the afro with legs as he shoved the chair out of the way and pushed Patrick’s in to replace it. He didn’t have time to say anything else as the teacher was clearly waiting to get her little welcome speech going, so the afro - Joe - hurried back to his chair. 

Miss Adams nodded a thank you to Joe. “Well, I guess this is going to be an interesting year.”

***

After two weeks of middle school, Patrick definitely thought his arms were getting stronger from all the moving around. He was going to end up like those rowers with the huge arms and gross shriveled legs. At least his legs couldn’t shrivel – kind of impossible for plastic to do that.

 During elementary school, he had a teaching assistant assigned to him who pushed him wherever he needed to go in the day. It wasn’t many places anyway. Plus, his mom would pick him up from school in their modified car. He was older now though, and his new school was closer, so he convinced her to go back to her old full-time hours. It wasn't entirely selfless: he _really_  wanted an electric guitar and electric guitars cost money.

  
While he could theoretically catch the bus, it was awkward getting lifted on and off by the driver, hearing people grumble about the delay and sitting by himself at the front. He lived within walking - or wheeling – distance, anyways.

It was Tuesday morning, and his mom had already left. Humming to himself, he rolled down the recently completed ramp, which meant he didn’t need help down the steps anymore. He suddenly rolled straight back up again, backwards, and as fast as possible.

There was someone in his yard.

The person was tall and imposing, dark hair and hideous posture that really annoyed Patrick because what a waste of working limbs.The Someone looked older, probably high-school age, which is basically an adult and just a no-go area. 

He stayed in his doorway, breathing heavily, and hoped the person didn’t see him. Unfortunately, the person did see him: Patrick snapped out of his reverie to see the guy, who held a Starbucks cup in hand (Wow, Starbucks! The guy really was mature. Patrick had pretended to like the coffee he’d been offered at Joe’s house just so he didn’t seem like even more of a baby, but he thought anyone who actually chose to drink the stuff on their own volition must be seriously hardcore), leaning over him. 

Patrick’s brow creased. He really hated when people did that.

  
“So… um… what are you doing in my yard? And also, I know I’m kind of short, but I’m pretty sure you can see me without bending over.” It meant to sound biting, but he went red, probably looked and sounded like a stupid, crippled kid. Like that girl in Heidi, or the rude rich kid in the secret garden. (Okay so maybe Patrick read too many old English books with pathetic side disabled characters who all got miraculously healed and then were likeable.)

  
The Someone flashed him a smile filled with the biggest teeth he had ever seen and Patrick wished his last adult tooth would come in so he could stop looking like a kid. He also wished his hair wasn’t so fluffy, and he wished- a lot of things.

“I’m Pete Wentz. I just moved in next door.”

  
Patrick shifted in his chair; his butt was going numb. “I’m Patrick-” He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he leaned down and carefully removed one of the fake legs, “Patrick Stumph.” He placed the foot of the plastic limb in Pete’s hand to shake, making sure the pun wasn’t lost on Pete, who gazed absently at the revealed stump.

His leg was scarred where it ended about halfway down his thigh. The older boy shook the foot without looking at it, his gaze was only broken when Patrick nervously re-applied the body part.

Patrick heard a large intake of breath and then Pete’s head snapped back up. “Yeah.” He muttered vacantly. Great. Another pity party. 

The wash of emotions came out as a furious blush on his cheeks - anger, embarrassment, sadness, shame, irritation, worry (he was late for school now), and a strange kind of pride - he let the chair slide down the ramp a little and butt gently against Pete’s legs.

  
“I’m late for school, so, can you, like move?” Patrick wasn’t sure why, but maybe it was because he hated being rude, he added, “It was nice meeting you, Pete.”

  
Pete’s mouth pressed into a small line, but he hopped off the ramp. Patrick felt a flare of envy again seeing strong legs plant themselves on the ground. He couldn’t help looking sadly at his own for a moment before he shook it off and pushed himself down the ramp.

He was just lining up to get through the gap in the fence, (which wasn’t really big enough but he didn’t want his mom to have to bother with even more crap) when he felt, rather than saw, Pete’s hands on the handles. He swallowed and mumbled out a. “No.”

“What?”

“I… Pete-” He tried to think about how to say it without coming off either rude or pathetic. “You don’t…” He made a frustrated sound. He hated his mom pushing him, let alone this stranger he just met – Pete.

  
“I’m not a baby in a stroller.” He said finally.

  
“Patrick,” Pete pleaded - pleaded? “You’re late, and it’s my fault. I’m a runner so-” That particular statement felt like a stab to Patrick. He could have been a runner. 

He didn’t want to explain to Pete how humiliating it felt, because that would be humiliating and, Jesus, the guy probably wouldn’t get it anyway. “It’s not a favor if I don’t want it.” He said patiently. “Plus, I don’t get in trouble of being late.”  _Because I’m the pathetic disabled guy who has to like, drag himself to school every day_ , he thought to himself. 

Thankfully, Pete let go and stood by the gate so he could watch the younger boy wheel himself furiously. Patrick felt him watching and hated it. He felt so-  _not going there_ , he reminded himself, though it was probably too late.

  
“Bye, Trick.” He heard Pete call out. Patrick wished he could turn around. For someone at least 5 years older than him and probably like a foot taller than him (and that’s without him being sitting down) Pete sure sounded small.  
“Bye, Pete.” He muttered, not sure whether Pete heard him.


	2. Stand Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick cries, his mom is long-suffering and Pete says the wrong thing but then he does the right thing and it's kind of schmoopy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Guys, I'm sorry for the terrible names but I nearly called it 'This Ain't A Scene It's A Legs Race' so I mean.... This one's named after a song by The Cab which came on shuffle while I was writing so. Anyway, sorry about this chapter I guess it's just sort of forming their relationship but after this I'll skip forward a bit and/or do Pete's POV (might do that in a separate prequel-type-thing, I'll decide later) anyway, here...

The day passed without any further Pete-related incident. Patrick ate his dinner silently, stared unseeingly ahead as his mom helped him onto the stair lift. He waited in silence at the top for her to bring his wheelchair up, looking at his feet (although he supposed they weren't really his).

He barely had the energy to get himself to his room. It all felt terribly exhausting and tedious all of a sudden. Finally arriving, he pushed himself wearily to the desk and then retrieved his homework from the pocket under the chair, with some difficulty. A sigh escaped him as he scribbled angrily.

Once the homework was done, Patrick manoeuvred himself out and positioned himself so he could look out the window, which only made him feel worse, like the hunchback of notre dame staring at the children playing outside.

There weren't any children playing outside, as it happened, but he could see Pete. Patrick tried to remember who lived in that house before Pete.  He thought it had been uninhabited for a while now and its previous occupants were unremarkable enough to have escaped his memory entirely in that time. 

The window opposite his appeared to be Pete's bedroom. Patrick didn't know if this was a good thing or not, but he couldn't face going back down to watch TV.

The therapist he'd had for a little while after the accident said he was coping amazingly well but occasionally Patrick had these days, where he really felt it. It was the helplessness that he hated the most. Being lifted into bed by your mom stops being so great after a while. Most days he didn't mind, but today...

So, having nothing better to do, he watched Pete for a little while.

The black-haired boy slammed a bag down on his bed and then stood there for a moment, looking restless. He walked to a table on the other side of the room and arranged a few things there, then went back to the bed and fiddled with the duvet, arranging it. The window was about twenty feet away but Patrick could feel the nervous energy coming off the older boy.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, then produced a comb from somewhere and started to brush his hair. Eye drawn by the movement, Patrick wondered about the hair. Could it be natural?

Pete looked dark, like maybe he wasn't all white but surely _no one_ had hair _that_ dark and something about the exact shade of it seemed strange. Overwhelmed by curiosity, Patrick made a mental note to ask Pete if he saw him again.

He was so lost in his pondering that he didn't notice the boy in the window had taken his pants off until he turned and heaved his legs onto the bed, so he sat in profile to the window, and Patrick. Patrick thought maybe he was getting changed, but he didn't see any new pants anywhere. Only when the hand went to the boxers did Patrick realise he was doing that thing he'd heard his cousin doing when they stayed at Christmas. He'd wanted to die when he asked about it and his cousin, a typical teenage boy, was only too happy to explain all about it.

Patrick felt himself go red and he hurried to remove himself from the window as fast as possible. His heart jumped as Pete seemed to notice the bare window and mouthed a bad word, hopping to the window to shut the drapes with one foot still in his pant leg.

Patrick felt like saying a bad word then, as he prayed Pete didn't see him. It wasn't like he was looking! He just... _saw_.

He sat like that, back to the window, until his mom came up to get him ready for bed. She pretended not to notice his silence as she gathered some pajamas from the dresser and helped him into them. He bit his lip as he struggled with his shirt, refusing her help.

He got as far as the knees with his pants before he couldn't reach and, humiliated but trying not to show it, let her pull them off. He was almost twelve and he still needed his _mom_ to help him get dressed.

He didn't meet her eyes as she slid the cotton pants up his legs, and his mind wandered briefly to what must be happening in Pete's room. It just made him feel even stupider in comparison when his mom lifted him into bed, and he felt tears pool in his eyes and turned to the side so his mom didn't see while she wiggled the legs off.

Blinking furiously, he tried to play it off as eyes watering from a yawn. Patricia's smile was small as she kissed his forehead, and her touch lingering as she brushed his bangs out of his eyes, so he didn't know if she bought it. "Night, honey."

"Night." When she was gone, Patrick peeled the covers back and stared at what was left of his legs. He pinched the skin just above where they ended and, even though he didn't feel it, couldn't feel it, he took some kind of delight in the big red marks it left behind as he pinched it, again and again, harder and harder.

His eyes roamed to the scar on his left thigh from where he spilled burning hot water. It was an honest experiment -  he was too little to really get it and he thought maybe if he did that he might feel it. At the time he thought it was kind of funny, the water splashing into skin and feeling nothing. He stroked it softly, wondering what it would feel like.

There were one or two fainter marks, that you'd only really notice if you already knew they were there, from repeated pinches in the same place. It was a coping mechanism, or something. He fell asleep stroking the scar on his leg up and down, until he was half asleep and he imagined he could feel the touch.

***

Patrick woke sometime in the night, desperate to pee. He stared at the cord for a long moment, almost wanting to just do it there: avoid waking up his mom and worrying her. He had waterproof sheets anyway, the kind made for old people and little kids who wet the bed - just in case. But it would still be work for his mom and shame for him in the morning so he pulled the chord with the white bead at the end (white bead for toilet, red bead for emergency) and waited. 

He whimpered without meaning to when the door finally opened and his mom entered. Patricia rubbed her eyes. "Hey, sweetie. Sorry I took so long to get here. You hold on all right?"

" _Mom_!" Her son replied, mortified. "Yeah I held on, I'm not a baby!" She smiled sleepily at him, making an apologetic sound. He rolled his eyes in return and lifted his arms to be picked up.

She got him bridal-style instead, earning another protest from him and a chuckle from her. It felt comfortable, maybe nice, until an uninvited thought crashed the part in Patrick's head.

_I wonder what Pete would think about you, the **stupid baby boy** who has to get CARRIED to pee. Does she come in with you? Does she have to help you so it doesn't go all over the floor? Wow, it's amazing you even got Joe to tolerate you but the cool guy next door? What did you think, he wanted to be your best friend and tell you all about the really cool band on his shirt?_

Patrick felt dizzy all of a sudden and clutched at his mom's shoulders. She gave him a concerned look but he shrugged it off and they both stayed quiet.

Getting the door open whilst carrying him was a challenge, so patrick leaned down and got it himself and she used his body to nudge it open.

"Do you want me to-" She started.

"Just, uh, help me on the seat and I'll ... do the rest myself."

It was what his mom expected and, knowing he didn't like her outside the door when he was in the toilet she called, "Okay, baby. I'll be in my room, pull the cord when you're done, yeah?" And Patrick _tried_ , he tried not to feel stupid as he wrestled with his underwear and tried to keep the pajama shorts from falling to the floor , where he wouldn't be able to reach them, which was tricky because there wasn't much leg to hold them in place, but he was peeing sitting down and when he was done his mom was going to have to carry him back to bed.

He felt grateful for his strong bladder, meaning he rarely had to do this. It was easier in the day when he could usually manage to wheel himself and pull himself from chair to seat and back. When he had his legs to stop him from feeling so small and so high up. And sometimes, he could even stand, propping himself against the toilet. Sighing, he arranged everything and pulled the cord and _really tried_ to feel okay as his mom carried him back to bed.

***

It was Saturday. This marked an almost Pete-free week. Not counting the wheelchair pushing incident or the window incident.

When he thought this, Patrick was mad at himself. He knew lots of people who he didn't see very often (whether he liked them or not) and he didn't have debates in his head on whether the week had been free of them. Shaking his head internally, he retrieved his new cellphone from the cup holder on his chair.

His mom thought he should have one, especially because of ... she didn't say it like that, but how helpless he was. There weren't many contacts in it so it wasn't hard to find _'Joe ;-)'_ Patrick grinned and shook his head externally. Who the hell puts a nose on their emojis? With fingers not acclimatised to texting, the boy typed _'Hey. It's Patrick. Want to hang out later? I'm kind of bored :)_ '

He was sitting outside because it made his mom happy because of vitamin D or whatever, and was content to stare at the clouds a little while, not thinking of anything at all for the first time in days. An amazingly short time later, it buzzed. He was a little awed, in honesty. _My first text_.

' _Ik who u r idiot - ur the one who put ur no in my contacts!!! im kinda busy today tomorrow tho??'_

_'That's okay! Have fun with whatever it is, I'll ask my mom if we can go to the mall tomorrow!'_

There was a long pause and Patrick thought maybe that counted as an ending for a text conversation but then Joe said _'thnks bro. im at basketball practice all day mom makes me do it :('_

Patrick knew Joe had hesitated to tell him what he was doing. And he didn't think about how all he could do was go to the stupid mall and like walk in the park or something and right now everyone else in the world was probably running around together and playing sports together and he was just-

"Hey buddy!" Patrick felt his insides take sides and split him into little pieces - the side that was annoyed at being called 'buddy' because that's what people call annoying children who are in the middle of tantrums - the side that wanted to grin back at the horsey smile because the prospect of a Saturday alone with his mom wasn't all that exciting - the side that just kind of ran around screaming and didn't really know what to say because there was a lot to get from 'Hey, Buddy' and he was kind of going through a thing right now and all those emotions together were difficult on him.

The winning side was apparently - thankfully - the rational side. "Hey, Pete." He said casually. And he didn't care about Pete's eyes watching his hands work the wheels towards the fence. When patrick arrived, Pete had a fist held out. It took Patrick an embarrassingly long moment to realise he was meant to bump it.

After he finally did, he craned his neck to see Pete's reaction to him being a stupid baby again. Pete was smiling at him warmly. That reminded him about the hair thing, which reminded him about the-

"Is your hair really that colour?" Patrick blurted, mainly to distract his head. For his part the other boy didn't look too surprised. He chuckled, that chuckle people use when a kid says something funny without realising. Patrick frowned at that. "Uh, kind of?" Pete said, ignoring his companion's expression. "See, it is actually that colour but..." now Pete blushed, which really WAS surprising. And kind of... endearing? "Well, it's actually curly, Like an Afro? but I straighten it..."

Patrick picked up on something else in Pete's tone that he didn't like. "Why did you say it like that? Like I wouldn't know what an afro is? I'm not stupid just 'cause I have a crappy wheelchair and because I'm, like, _that disabled boy_! My _legs_ might have gone to hell but _my brain hasn't_! I can take care of _myself_ and _you_ don't have to treat me like a CHILD!" He said in a crescendo that ended up loud enough to probably alert his mom to something going on.

"Woah, what?" Patrick could have said the same thing. Less than a minute ago he was yelling at pete, who was on the other side of the fence. Now Pete was on his side, and- there were tears running down Patrick's cheeks. _Like a baby_. Pete must have vaulted the fence at some point because now, only just noticing tears on the kid's face, he kneeled in front of the chair. "Hey, Woah." He murmured soothingly. "Hey. Pat. _Trick_. Look at me, Tricky?"

Patrick snuffled and looked up at Pete slowly, viciously rubbing a hand across his face. Pete's eyes were warm and worried and they made Patrick start again with the hiccuping sobs. Pete got to his feet, which seemed strange; but then he but his arms around Patrick's waist and lifted him up into his grasp, so he could hug him. Gently planting the other boy's feet on the ground, holding firmly to his waist so he couldn't fall, Pete put his chin over Patrick's head. The still snuffling boy buried his face into Pete's shoulder. Pete murmured encouragingly the whole time. "It's okay, Patrick. You're not a kid. You're not... any less than anyone else and you're not stupid. I mean... I've only met you a few times but you seem pretty well-spoken for a middle schooler and you're a lot less annoying than most of them. I guess that counts for something? Like if you met me at you rage I was a little SH- I mean dic- uhh, I was super annoying, anyway. And, like, I have this cousin, right and she... Sorry, Pat, I'm babbling."

Somehow, his name out of Pete's mouth comforted patrick enough that he stopped snuffling and muttered, "You're not babbling - well, you are, but I don't mind. And, uh, Pat is my mom's name." Pete laughed at that and gently set a red-eyed Patrick back in his chair. "Got anything planned for today?"


	3. The Whole Package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Football and romantic tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't proof read or anything so let me know any mistakes :)

"Mom, I'm going out with Pete!" Patrick called, pushing himself out of the door hurriedly.  
"Okay sweetie. Don't leave your cell on silent again!"  
The Pete in question was at the bottom of the ramp, watching Patrick descend with unreadable eyes. Said eyes flickered to the handles for just a moment, but.  
Patrick didn't want that, so it wasn't a favour. It frustrated Pete - a lot of it did, but Patrick's stubbornness in areas where he could easily get help was the worst thing. But there was probably a plus side: There's no way Patricia would be letting her fourteen year old kid be hanging out with a nineteen year old college dropout whose tattoos had started appearing quite a bit before they should have legally, but for the fact that Patricia knew being with Pete made Patrick feel... normal.  
Delighted at the absence of the usual trucker hat or beanie, Pete ruffled his friend's fluffy blonde hair affectionately. Slapping at his hands mock-angrily Patrick laughed, flashing that pretty white smile he didn't use nearly as often as he should. It was kind of dorky, but in a endearing way.  
"You're not wearing your glasses." Pete said.

"Don't need them." Patrick responded stubbornly.

Pete fixed him with a look that made him shiver. "I don't! They're only for reading!" He paused. "...And driving, but I'll never do that anyway."

Pete narrowed his eyes and learnt down a little so he could take Patrick's chin, softly, and pull it up to face him. "Patrick."  
Patrick sighed. "Yeah, Pete, I know. But... modifying the car would cost a lot and... it's just another thing for mom to worry about and, really, I'm fine the way it is."  
Pete sighed but he didn't take it any further, although Patrick knew better than to think this was over.  
"Anyway, I have all morning but I have soccer game in the aftern-"  
"I want to come." Patrick interrupted. He held Pete's gaze for a moment before Pete sighed, again. "Are you sure?"  
Resenting the idea that he would say something and not be sure, Patrick nodded, brow creasing. He knew what it was like there: Pete had to carry him up the steps to his seat because there's no way a chair was going to get up there, and then he was sat by himself in an isolated area, while any nearby moms made sympathetic cooing sounds in their husbands ears and the whole thing made him feel like a kindergartener because he knew everyone else there treated him like one. But he could ignore it and focus on the field, and he really liked watching Pete lose himself in the sport, seeing his glittering eyes calculate his next move, his sturdy legs going every which way and his horse smile flashing constantly. It made him proud in a weird way.  
"I'm going to have to run off after though, I've got..." Pete winced at the choice of words and hesitated for some unknown reason. "I've got therapy after so-"  
He wasn't looking at Patrick, which made him wish he could reach to mimic what Pete did and get him to look. "Pete. Pete look at me." Patrick sighed, rubbing a fist across his eyes. "That's all I really need to say, really. _Look at me._ You don't need to worry, like be embarrassed, I guess, about telling me stuff. It's not like I can run away." He added helpfully.

Pete was quiet for a minute. "Yeah." He said softly, reminding Patrick of the first time they'd met. "I've known you for two years, okay, so please tell me stuff?"  
Patrick didn't know if he liked suddenly feeling like the adult. Pete nodded enthusiastically.  
"Yeah. Yeah. I... no, it's a new thing. I've been- no well I only started like a few months ago and I- Yeah well I didn't want to worry you. I thought it would be, like, a one off. I don't know. Whatever."  
Patrick nodded. "Well I just mean, you can always talk to me, if you need to. God knows you do it enough anyway, might as well say something useful."  
***  
The game went okay. Pete's team lost , due to no fault of Pete's (Patrick was fiercely loyal and didn't understand the rules of soccer but he was SURE it wasn't Pete's fault) with minimal amounts of pity thrown his way and only some staring when Pete carried him back down the steps. He tried not to breathe in Pete's post-game musk. When they got there, Pete set him down and ruffled his hair again but, after fixing his hair and muttering angrily, Patrick caught Pete's eye and held his arms out for a hug. Patrick wished hugging him wasn't such a chore, but Pete knew he hated it when people leaned down over him and sort of awkwardly half-hugged him and his chair. He put his arms around Patrick's waist and guided him gently to standing, then slowly slid his grip up from his from waist and crushed his face into Patrick's shoulder. Patrick wished he had a free hand to pat Pete's back or do something comforting, but he was busy holding on for dear life.  
"Hey. I can take myself home. You should-"  
Pete set him back down gently and nodded without saying anything. They bumped fists by way of a goodbye before Pete turned and headed for his car and Patrick went in the direction of his home.

***

" _Patty has a girlfriend! Patty has a girlfriend_!" Pete chanted, waving his phone out of reach. That wasn't really true. He had a girl... _friend_. But they hadn't been on any _dates_. Patrick tried to imagine a date with himself. Must be fun watching a waiter carry your hot date to his seat and then carry him to the toilet when he drinks too much water. What about prom? Slow dancing was less enjoyable when you had to basically _carry_ your date just to stand up.  
"She's not my _girlfriend_!" He shrieked.  
"Sure. 'See you tomorrow, _love heart love heart_ ' sounds like what you text me all the time!" Pete sounded more bitter about this than Patrick thought entirely necessary.  
"She's not my girlfriend, Pete. What kind of girl would chain themselves to..." He gestured to himself, "In their wild and free days of youth."

  
Pete was silent for a long time after that, but Patrick felt the room get a few degrees warmer in his fury. Pete sat himself down furiously on the couch next to Patrick. "I'm not a girl," he said viciously, "But I would. Patrick you're not... you're not a _burden_ , okay? I'm- She'd be lucky to have you. You must get that, right? You're so beau- You've got basically everything going for you, dude, you're the package. Just... with a bit missing. But-" He rubbed his temples, "Trick, if you don't get it, I don't think I can explain it to you but you're perfect."  
Something foreign in Pete's tone made Patrick uncomfortable. He hung his head and shuffled so he could lean into Pete and feel his arm around him. Pete smelled nice (for once) (not that he cared) and he allowed himself to relax into the sideways embrace. He tried to breathe regularly, muffled through the fabric of Pete's shirt (cool band) (cooler than Patrick) while the older boy combed his fingers through his soft, blonde hair. Patrick thought Pete might be muttering something, or humming or just really crap and breathing quietly - whatever it was, it made Patrick feel safe. While he was definitely not smelling Pete's shoulder, Pete said suddenly, "Hey, speaking of packages, does it still, Like-"  
Patrick basically turned into a human tomato. "Oh my god, dude, _yes_! Not that it's any of your... _Oh my god_. You have no boundaries! We were having a _moment_!"


	4. crushcrushcrush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick is drunk, sad and gay. This is set when Patrick is fifteen and Pete is twenty, about a year on from the last chapter :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed a longer, better version of this and then, cleverly, I deleted it so this is my demoralised attempt at re-doing it! Title from the paramore song (very creative)  
> Thank you for all the kudos/bookmarks/comments <3

Pete was making out with some random, androgenous blonde in an alleyway somewhere (The person had giggled and said ‘Call Me Anything, cutie’ when asked what their name was.) when they went straight for _Little Peter_ with absolutely no warning, At the same moment, Pete felt his phone buzzing in his pocket - the custom vibrate which meant Patrick was calling. And Patrick never called so that meant an emergency. And that was the _only reason_ Pete whimpered, “ _Patrick_!” When he felt a clammy hand clench around him. Apparently, this isn't what Call-Me-Anything was looking for in a guy because they made an indignant sound and shoved him away in disgust.

Feeling slightly guilty at the vague apology he offered, Pete scurried out of the alley and shoved his phone to his ear. He knew something was wrong. He did anyway, because Patrick agreed to only call if it was an emergency, but Patrick's voice sounded strange, and he was breathing harder than Pete, who hoped it wasn't for the same reason. Only out of concern for a minor, of course. Patrick started giggling in Pete's ear. Shit. _Shit_!  
"Pete." He said breathily, urgently.  
"Shit. _Shit_ , Trick, where are you?"  
Patrick's only response was more giggling and then, "That's a... hmmmmm... Pete that's a bad... what's the- Word!" He said triumphantly, singsong.  
"Crapcrapcrap. Where are you, Tricky?" Pete panted worriedly. As Patrick babbled, Pete's pulse doubled.  
"You sound _funny_ , Peteyyyy. You sound like my mom when I got hit by a car. Hey, Pete, did I tell you I got hit by a car? Yeah and now I'm _stuuuuuuuupid_ a lot and the boy next door called Pete, always wants to push me because he thinks I'm a babeeeeeeeeeeee, but he's really prett-"

Pete interrupted him. Every time Patrick said that he felt like he was getting stabbed. _He doesn't really think that_. "Okay, Trick, where are you dude?" Pete pleaded. Patrick hummed to himself for a bit and then said, "It's a big house!" Pete sighed, massaging his temples, and decided he _hated_ Patrick. "Yeah, we're in the suburbs, so you're gonna have to be more specific, Pattycakes." Patrick broke off, making gagging sounds that made Pete's heart clench. Soon enough, he returned, cheerful as ever despite apparently spitting up like half his bodyweight. "Uhhhhhh... Well we were there the other day, Pete... uh with the ladies. That are _statues_!" He seemed pleased with himself.

Pete kind of wanted to die but he couldn't leave Patrick. He was quiet, thinking. Then Patrick said, "Yeah youuuuu said it was... hmmmmmmmmmm... pretend? or _maybeeee_. Something like tents?" Patrick dissolved into giggling again. Pete groaned loudly. "Wait. Shit! Pretentious?"

" _YEAH_!" Patrick yelled, making Pete wince. "Pete said that and I didn't _know_ what that word means so I said 'yeahh' so he didn't think I was a _biiiiig baby_ , but I-" Pete felt like Patrick was stabbing him, again.  
"Patrick I- I don't-" Pete realised it probably wasn't worth it with this version of Patrick. "Just- I'm coming, okay, buddy? Keep me on the phone, can you do that?" Pete thought the boy on the other end was probably nodding. "Okay, good boy."

He kept the cell on speakerphone while he sprinted twice as fast as he ever did at those goddamn long distance trials, not wanting anything to happen while he wasn't there. Patrick's constant babbling slowed his pulse a little - he caught a lot of _'Peteyyyy_ ' and ' _ **Pe**_ terrrrr' but didn't really want to listen too closely. It didn't feel to fair to Patrick.

***

Turning the corner, light and noise assaulted his senses. Illuminated by the overbearing light from the enormous, show-offy house, a pissed looking stone lady glared at him. _Brilliant, a high-school party_. The house was one of those, with the five mile long driveways. Patrick could be anywhere. "Tricky?" He murmured gently into the cell.  
"Peteyyyyyyy! I thought you were ignoring me!" Came the sullen reply.  
"Patty, I'm at the house. Can you tell me where you are?"  
"It's dark?" Patrick suggested. _Fuck_. For lack of a better idea, Pete called out loud into the dark stretches of sidewalk. He breathed out all the breath in his body with relief when his own name floated towards him, sounding a lot softer and smaller than it had over the phone. Pete sprinted in the direction of the voice.  
"Fuck! _Patrick_ , fuck!" The flashlight on his cellphone illuminated the boy, lying on his side in a pool of vomit, glasses askew, chair nowhere to be seen. It made Pete want to throw up too. Pete rushed up to him and knelt next to him. He didn't realise he was crying until Patrick's huge, blue eyes landed vacantly on him, looking vaguely concerned. Pete wrapped his arms around Patrick's torso, indifferent to the vomit his arm was now submerged in. When he sat back up, Patrick looked at him sadly. "You didn't come, Pete. I peed on myself." It was matter of fact but to Pete the words were eight stabs in the gut. He helped ease Patrick into sitting position and wrapped him back up in his embrace. He realised the drunk boy was shaking and felt a little lost. Patrick seemed to relax a little when Pete combed through his hair with his fingers.  
"Hey, buddy, shhh. Hey, it's okay. It's okay now, tricky, I'm here. I'm here, it's okay." He murmured into Patrick's shoulder. From there it was relatively easy to bring himself to standing with Patrick in his arms. Pete shifted him on his hip a little, which snapped Patrick out of his reverie or something because he started fighting the grip, wriggling and doing something with his hips that made Pete think he was trying to _kick his legs_.  
"Do you have to hold me like a _babyyyyy_?" He whimpered. _Stab, stab, stab_. With the hand supporting under his butt, Pete lifted Patrick up as high as he could, so he could tuck his chin over Patrick's head, burying his face in the fluffy blonde there. " _Trick_ , buddy," he sighed, "You _know_ I do. Just-" Patrick seemed to accept this because he stopped struggling in favour of squeezing Pete tightly in his arms and nodding into his chest. He made a small sound that didn't appear to correspond to an actually word, just a little whimper that hurt Pete's wounded heart even further.

Patrick must've felt the drips on his head because he carefully peeled one arm from around Pete, with an adorable expression of fearful concentration, while the other arm tightened to a death grip. Once free, he reached up and brushed at Pete's bangs (Both Pete and Patricia did that to him to show their affection, Pete remembered) or tried to, ending up just sort of scraping at Pete's forehead somewhere, but the action earned a pale half smile from Pete.  
"Tricky, where's your chair?" Pete realised.  
"Don't want it!" Patrick replied indignantly, burying his face back in Pete's chest.  
_IknowIknowIknow_ "I know, dude, _I know_. But it's that or being carried and I know you _hate_ that." He coaxed.  
He felt Patrick shrug against his chest. " _Not by you_ ," he mumbled stubbornly, but then: "I don't kno _wwwww_! Maybe near?"  
Images of what could've happened filled Pete with horror and rage. He couldn't stop picturing Patrick stumbling hopefully to his feet while college kids laughed drunkenly at him, and then falling and- _Thank fuck_. Patrick's wheelchair, apparently unscathed but lying on its side, was just a few feet away.

A patrick-clad Pete stumbled the distance and then, knowing from experience how unwieldy the thing actually was, puffed out a hot breath against Patrick's hair. "Patty? I gotta put you down now, okay?" Heart breaking even more, if that was possible, at the way Patrick's fists bunched unhappily in the material on Pete's back, he lowered the boy down, adjusting his legs so he could balance, and coaxed his arms off Pete's neck. _He should be at home, in bed, not out here, covered in... bodily fluids_ , Pete thought angrily. The rage fuelled him and he managed to flip the chair with ease, noticing Patrick watch him with a clouded, awestruck gaze. That almost choked a laugh out of him, because there's no way a sober Patrick would ever let him see that expression.

When he fetched Patrick, the boy thankfully cooperated, holding his arms out to be picked up and going slack against Pete, letting himself be set down in the chair. But when Pete took hold of the handles, that was a different story. Patrick tried to turn himself around but didn't have the coordination, whimpering and whining in protest. Pete sighed sadly and crossed to Patrick's front.  
" _Patrick_." he warned, then softened, "Tricky, buddy, you know I have to this time. I just- _please_?" They held each others' eyes until Patrick made a frustrated little noise and looked away from Pete. When he looked up again his sweet blue eyes were brimming with tears, and so were Pete's. Taking the handles again, Pete leaned over to ruffle his hair. He ached to see Patrick's little fist gripping the armrest in frustration.

***

Pete was battling up the steps to his house (Patrick had fallen asleep on the journey and slept like a lead weight) with the chair when his mom appeared in the doorway. He'd sent a text to Patricia from Patrick's phone saying he was staying the night at Pete's, appropriating Patrick's eloquent, slang-free writing style. Dale's eyes went to the sleeping, soiled Patrick and the haggard Pete and she smiled that soft, serene mom smile. She helped Pete with the last of the steps, gaze lingering on Patrick's sleeping face, fingers stroking his bangs away, before he looked up and smiled at her son.

She offered to make coffee and he wordlessly agreed, making his way to the staircase. After one attempt at stairs when with-chair, Pete decided to scoop the sleeping Patrick up bridal style and take the stairs that way instead. Patrick wriggled and sometimes mumbled in his dreams, but seemed peaceful, which Pete was grateful for, on Patrick's behalf. After only a few _thousand years_ , they arrived at Pete's room and the sleeping boy was lowered ceremoniously onto Pete's kingsize. He shuffled a bit, but remained asleep.

Possibly, or probably, watching him for longer than he should have, Pete sighed, and remembered the soiled jeans. Fighting off any more emotions he was too tired to take on, he rummaged in the dresser for something small enough - deciding the shirt should stay. Patrick was going to have enough to deal with in the morning, the fact that his top half retained its sanctity might help him a little, and it wasn't really that dirty. Pete hesitated when he turned back to the bed, but swallowed and scolded himself. _You're the adult remember. And no crying_.

Patrick whimpered when Pete undid the fly and slid his jeans gently down his legs, revealing smooth, milky white thighs. Pete lifted his feet one by one to get the ends off and cast the pants as far away from them both as he could. He looked back to Patrick's thighs, the pale amputation scars peeking over the seam between skin and plastic, and one stray one a bit further up one of his thighs, and remembered Patrick wasn't meant to sleep with the legs on. It took a moment of tentative exploration but Pete eventually figured out the mechanism and removed both without waking his sleeping friend. With the legs carefully to one side, he turned back to Patrick and was a little taken aback at the sight, the Patrick no one ever saw. Like this: legless and... well, legless - he looked impossibly tiny and it stopped Pete's heart for a moment.

When he realised that he was running his fingers across the big scar, Pete felt a little ill and snatched his fingers back. He averted his gaze and pulled Patrick's shirt down to cover the no doubt soiled underwear to try and save Patrick's dignity (and Pete's attempt to go fifteen minutes without crying). He didn't like the thought of Patrick sleeping in the damp, unpleasant reminder of his ordeal, but he didn't think child protection would love the idea of a twenty year old guy handling a fifteen ( _and a half_! patrick would protest indignantly) year old amputee's junk while he was drunk out of his skull AND unconscious. Patrick would like it even less.

The problem with the pajama pants Pete had found was only evident once Pete had coaxed both of Patrick's... stumps through the leg holes. They hung stupidly over the edge and Pete felt irritated at himself for not thinking of that. Too exhausted to do anything much about it now, he rolled them up as best he could and then - because he had cleverly set Patrick down on top of the bedding - scooped Patrick up again (shivering at his icy touch when he instinctively burrowed into Pete's warmth) and managed to peel back the duvet and get into the bed whilst holding Patrick, who snuffled and dug his face into Pete's chest once settled. Pete ruffled his golden halo and then buried his face in it, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of his sleeping breath.

When Dale brought the coffee up a little while later she found her son curled protectively around a mop of fluffy gold hair and smiled to herself.

***

Patrick awoke to Pete sitting cross legged over him, brushing his bangs out of his eyes as they blinked open. " _Morning, Tricky-pie_." He murmured. That alone worried Patrick significantly. Not that he woke up to Pete often (his morning and night time routines weren't scenes he wanted Pete to experience, if he was honest) but Pete was usually a deranged, overexcited puppy at all times. Patrick groaned as the previous night made itself known, in short, confusing excerpts. Then he felt a familiar weight in his bladder and felt himself panicking. He considered waiting until he got home but someone was running a faucet downstairs and he _metaphorically_ crossed his legs and _literally_ whimpered.

Pete was watching him worriedly now, probably expecting a bad hangover or something. Luckily, the complete and utter humiliation patrick felt overwhelmed any headache that might be lurking. "Pete," He whispered urgently, "I really... need the toilet." Pete seemed _relieved_. "Right! The bathroom's just down the ha- _Shit!_ Fuck, I'm sorry. _Shit_. Right, um, fuck, do you - _shit_ \- do you, want me, to. You know, like?"  
Patrick went almost the same colour as Pete's shirt. Pete seemed embarrassed but so far not _revolted_ ; Patrick took comfort in that when the thoughts came knocking: _stupid, useless, gross, embarrassing, helpless, baby, what the fuck is wrong with you_ \- but from what he remembered from last night, it was probably too late for that anyway.  
He nodded, still an impressive shade of red. "Just- I... Like if you, um, help me, like _get_ there and I can - I can... _take care of myself_?" In the time it took to blink, Pete had vaulted off the bed and taken Patrick in his arms again. The movement was jarring and Patrick groaned, "Ughhh, Pete, my _head_!" _Ah. There was that hangover then_.  
Pete chuckled. "Thought you were a big boy who could take of himself? That's what you told me last night!" Patrick stuck his tongue out and batted uselessly at Pete, but Pete just made his movements jerkier as Patrick groaned and clutched his head in semi-mock agony. They fell silent, though, when Pete halted in front of the bathroom door and the moment turned awkward.  
" _Patrick_ -" Pete broke he silence, "Listen, Trick I just... You don't need to feel, like don't be- Uh, I mean. Ugh, Patrick- I mean you-" he shook his head. "Jesus, I'm good at talking in full sentences, huh." He took a moment and a deep breath and tried again. Patrick wouldn't meet his eyes, clinging to him and sinking into his chest. " _Okay_ , just. I wanted to say, that you shouldn't feel, like, _bad_ about this, right, Tricky? It's" He made a frustrated noise, "It's like you told me yesterday. You got hit by a car, okay. _Your legs don't fucking work_! You don't have to beat yourself up because your best friend is carrying you to the bathroom. It's not, I don't know how to say this, I'm sorry? It's not you, is what I think I mean. It's just a... _thing_. It doesn't mean you're like, a _kid_ or, y'know, less of a person or any of those things and it's not- I don't- I don't _care_ about any of this. You know that right, pattycakes? It's not- I don't mind it and it's just something I do for my _friend_ and I _know_ \- don't interrupt me I _know_ \- what you say to yourself, what you think about okay, but it doesn't matter to me at all, _yeah_? And it shouldn't matter to you- I ... that wasn't very well phrased but, like, the sheer number of words I used will hopefully convince you?" He flashed one of his huge smiles, this one meek and hopeful.  
By way of reply, Patrick squeezed him even tighter and snuffled a little into his chest, while Pete stroked his hair and back, Patrick nodding into his chest. Pete hoisted Patrick up so he could bury his face in Patrick's shoulder and Patrick in Pete's. They stayed there for an indeterminable moment, intertwined.  
"Pete?" Patrick whispered apprehensively, "I kind of, really need to pee?"  
"Shit!" Pete jerked out of his trance, muttering curses to himself while he battled the door, which eventually gave way to his might. Patrick watched him through his eyelashes, smiling at his comical expression. He felt awkward again when Pete stopped at the toilet but Pete stooped down and flipped the lid for him, then gently set Patrick down. Pete grabbed his shoulders to steady him when he wobbled. "Woah! You okay, buddy?" Patrick nodded enthusiastically, just kind of desperate to pee now.  
"You sure you can do the rest by yourself cause I-" Pete fixed a mock-suggestive look on his face and Patrick, mortified, flapped his hands at him. Pete held his hands up in apology, leant to kiss him on the cheek, ruffled his hair, then left. Thankfully he seemed to understand that Patrick wasn't keen on having someone hover outside the door while he tried to pee, because he heard him call out en route back to the bedroom, "Yell when you're done, yeah?" And while Patrick was wrestling with the pajama pants, he _didn't_ think about how he was friends with Joe and friends with Pete but Joe never buried his face in his neck, slept twined around him with a mouthful of his hair and Joe sure as _shit_ never kissed him on the cheek - _while he was on the toilet,_ he thought with a shy grin. Well, he would have grinned if he had been thinking about it. Which he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) Also i'm english so i try and use american words for stuff (every time i proofread this i find like 10 times where i said trousers not pants but anyway) but I made a joke somewhere about patrick being legless, because here at least legless is another word for wasted, just to clarify ;)


	5. The Future Freaks Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No new plot: short retelling in Pete's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel bad because i've been super busy lately and kind of unmotivated (yeah, i know i wrote a 26k fic in one day but apart from that) and kind of forgotten about this. There are two more chapters somewhere in the works but i just haven't been able to deal with them lately, but i found this overview in pete's perspective that i wrote a while ago so I'm posting it to alleviate some of my guilt but can i say, it's unbetaed and also pretty old, and my writing has gotten a lot better since then. i'm going to TRY and get this finished in my christmas break, so bear with me :)  
> thanks motion city soundtrack for the chapter title (guess who just pressed shuffle on their ipod and picked the first vaguely appropriate song title)

Pete didn't fall in love at first sight. He wasn't _that_ creepy. Maybe when he first saw Patrick, a slightly out-of-it looking kid who he guessed was like _ten_ , he thought something like _what a pretty kid_ , but honestly _most_ kids were pretty - smooth skin, huge eyes, white smiles, slender frames - unspoiled yet by life. A lot of pretty kids turned out to be huge uglies.   
Anyway, Pete's actual first thought was: _Mom's going to love this_. Well known for her love of mothering every living thing within a ten-mile-radius, she sent him next door to make a good impression or something, saying she didn't know how old their kid was but there definitely _was_ one, and he should offer said kid a lift to school if they went to one of the three schools Pete drove past on the way to his.   
And that meant his second thought was _I probably can't give him a lift then_.   
So _what a pretty kid_ was actually his third thought. And his fourth thought was _why is this adorable kid staring at my Starbucks because there's no way in hell I'm letting him have any_. Pete was kind of protective of his Starbucks.   
The point was, _none_ of his thoughts were like, _I want to jump this impossibly tiny kid's bones_.  
  
It was more like the kid blinking up at him, looking _terrified,_ making Pete's heart melt and Pete deciding he was going to protect this person from _everything ever_ and he was never going to get hurt at all by _anything_ forever and ever the end. And the kid blushing and Pete kind of wanting to squeal. Then the kid - who was called Patrick - patiently explaining that he didn't want to be pushed, making Pete kind of want to cry.

***

  
After deciding with himself that he was destined to become Patrick's protector, it was a Saturday. Seeing Patrick sitting by himself in the sun, Pete decided he probably could do with some company and headed out to lean over the fence, where kid was lost in thought and nearly jumped out of his chair when Pete called out.   
  
There was more heart-melting when the kid took about a minute to realise he was meant to bump Pete's fist and then a lot of heartache when Pete said something wrong and suddenly the kid was _crying_. Pete gravitated towards him immediately and did his best to reassure him, and the look on his face made Pete certain that he was meant to know this kid. Patrick successfully comforted, Pete offered for them to walk Pete's family dog together.   
  
While they walked (Well, Pete and the dog walked, Patrick's arms working leisurely across the wheels of his chair) Pete told him how he was going to get his own dog someday, something super cool but with a soft side, like an English bulldog maybe, and Patrick mainly stayed quiet but he giggled occasionally and, when Pete was telling him about that one time when he skipped class with his buddy Andy ( _everyone_ was high in this story, Pete realised, and it was possibly not appropriate for an eleven year old, as Pete now knew Patrick to be, but he'd already gotten to the pee drinking part so, _c'est la vie_ ) Patrick looked up at him with wide eyes and said " _Really_?" and Pete was filled with the desperate urge to squeeze him tightly and tell him everything was going to be okay.  
  
***  
  
Pete didn't know how long it took, there wasn't some epiphany one day, or anything like that. Patrick just went from the adorable boy next door who he felt a stronger desire to protect than do anything else to anyone else in the world; to Pete's best friend in the whole universe; to something _else_ , he didn't know what but he was jealous when he snooped in Patrick's cell and found a girl. But there was probably nothing absolutely tangible until that _one_ time, the time that it hurt Pete to remember, when Patrick got really drunk and Pete had to rescue him.   
  
Possibly, it was a strange time to fall in love because Patrick was acting like a six year old and Pete felt sick with worry, but once Patrick was safe and Pete's mind started to slow down and relax, it was undeniable. What could Pete _do_ though? Anything he might have said would risk their entire friendship and he couldn't do that for Patrick's sake, let alone his own. Brain on overdrive like this, he thought it would be impossible to sleep so he curled himself around Patrick as tightly as he could, trying to copy his breathing patterns and somehow, actually managed to fall asleep, even after the day he'd had. 


	6. Unexpected Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick has a dream and then cute stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kind of forgot about this but i got a notification that someone commented and i had this chapter saved as a draft and i wasn't going to post it but the peterick tag is dead right now so here?? i wrote it a while ago so.... the next chapter should be the last and there's about half of that in my drafts, prompt me for oneshots in this or any verses I've written at saverockandsoulpvnk.tumblr.com or just yell at me to write something :) love you all

_“Patrick, are you sure you want to-”  
Patrick nodded, eyes half closed. He stayed like that as Pete helped him stand up, feeling like a doll as his was propped against his bedroom wall. He could see out of the window from here, and he remembered a different time, some five years ago - he made a mental note to tell Pete about that sometime to embarrass him._

_Patrick opened his eyes a little wider, watching with a tight chest as Pete fussed around with his feet, making sure he was stable. With a satisfied grunt, Pete stood up in a rush and suddenly his face was very close to Patrick’s face, an Patrick could feel him breathing heavily and reached a hand out behind himself to hold onto the wall behind him, feeling unsteady._

_“Pete," he mumbled uncertainly. Pete, at a slightly more comfortable distance but still close enough to hear his breathing, straightened up. He reached out two fingers, tipping Parick’s chin up to meet his eyes. They were huge and worried looking and Pete, who hated seeing them like that, ghosted a hand across Patrick’s forehead. “You don’t have to, if you don’t-”_

_Patrick set his mouth firmly and shook his head. He saw Pete smile fuzzily and lean into him, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist and putting his face so their noses touched. Startled, Patrick squeaked and cast around behind him for balance. He wobbled unsteadily, but Pete just gripped him tighter and he didn’t fall. “Woah, Ricky,” Pete steadied him. “You won’t fall_ _.”_  
_He knew he wouldn’t, ever, not while Pete had him._  
“Pete," he said again.  
“ _Patrick. Patrickpatrickpatrick pat-pat-Pattycakes-”_

“Patrick! Earth to Patty!” Someone was leaning over him with a mildly concerned expression.  
“Mom?” He mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes and rolling over. A moment later the person appeared again.  
“Don’t roll away from me, Tricky! You look so adorable when you’re sleeping and also, no offence to your mom, but I’ve been working out a _ton_ this week and I’m super offended that you would mistake me for her.” Pete wasn’t known for being a very restrained person so the calmest he could currently manager was an excitable stage whisper.

  
Patrick wiggled further into the covers so only his hair and eyes were visible and waved a hand in front of him that said ’ _go away_ ’ hoping to hit Pete. In return, Pete whipped the duvet off him in one move and Patrick whined, curling up on on himself and shivering exaggeratedly. 

“ _Pete_ ,” he mumbled in a groggy protest. He thought about his embarrassing rocket ship pyjamas and his legs (or lack thereof) for a moment but Pete had seen it all anyway and miraculously didn’t seem to care, so he just whined and used his elbows to struggle into sitting. Pete knew him too well to offer for help so he just watched him struggle: Patrick didn’t miss the agitated opening and closing of his fists.

  
Once sitting, Patrick retrieved a blanket from somewhere and pulled it over himself. When he was satisfied he turned to Pete and glared at him. “I’m up. What d’you _want_?”  
The way he shifted under Patrick’s gaze made him uneasy.  
“You’re so pretty when you’re mad.”  
“Pete.”  
“Sorry, 'Trick.” Goddamn it. Patrick wondered if Pete was like Cinderella’s coachmen, but had come from a labrador puppy instead and his job, rather than to get some lady to a party, was to annoy Patrick.  
“ _Ugh_ , what time is it anyway?” Patrick made a noise of mock disgust as Pete hopped up onto the bed beside him and shrugged innocently.

  
“Dunno. I couldn’t sleep?”  
Patrick hummed to himself. “What do you want me- What do you want to do?” It was still dark outside but Patrick couldn’t see himself going back to sleep now and Pete didn’t let petty things like the rotation of the Earth get in his way. He looked up at Patrick from where he was buried under his arm, looking like a puppy who’d been caught making a mess. “Wanted to see you.”

  
Patrick sighed and shoved Pete off him. “How did you even get into my house? Wait, I don't wanna know.  _Neither_ of us are going to sleep now. Do you want to go for a walk?” Patrick knew that calmed Pete down and, at his nod, added, “Help me up?”  
Pete dutifully fetched the chair from its place in the corner and helped Patrick into it, feeling guilty for enjoying the way Patrick clung to him.

  
Patrick tried to reach for where his legs were set on the floor, almost unbalancing the chair and causing Pete to yelp and reach to steady it and then retrieve them for Patrick, who took them off Pete before he could go to put them on, and struggled with them himself. Pete shook his head to himself and asked Patrick if he was okay to go out in what he was wearing. Apparently not having learned his lesson about reaching for things, Patrick nodded and reached for the blanket from earlier, for warmth.  
Pete was about to worry about Patrick’s legs getting cold before he realised and chuckled to himself; then went to tuck the blanket around Patrick’s torso, where he needed it. It was a bit of a waste since, two minutes later, he had to take the blanket back off, lift Patrick onto the chairlift and set him down carefully. 

  
Patrick winced as it whirred angrily, with no regard for his sleeping mother. It made him laugh to see Pete struggling with the semi collapsible chair as Patrick was carried down regally and Pete made even more of an idiot of himself than he did just by generally being around.

Eventually, the chair, Patrick, and Pete were all reunited at the foot of the stairs and Patrick clutched his blanket and left Pete to negotiate the chair back into its upright state. Once it was completed, Pete fumbled to find a handhold on Patrick and hoisted him up.

As soon as he was in Pete’s grip, Patrick suddenly remembered his dream in full and, emboldened by his state of sleep-drunkenness said to Pete, “Dude, did you know, I saw you jerking off when I was like, eleven?”

Pete spluttered and almost dropped him and if Patrick had thought about it, he wouldn’t have mentioned it until he was safely on the ground (or at all). Red as Patrick had ever seen him, Pete said eventually, “ _Shit_ , dude, I’m sorry - did I totally scar you for life?” He had on that lopsided, apologetic grin that made him look even more like a goofy dog than usual.

  
Patrick was red too, which he didn’t think was fair seeing as this was meant to embarrass _Pete_. He laughed lightly. “Not really. I mean, I didn’t even really see, I was like looking out my window and I could see in your room and I was like ’ _look there’s Pete wonder what he’s doing_ ’ and then- yeah. So I like, turned away or whatever at that point, obviously.” Patrick went even redder and Pete just grinned.  
“That’s so cute! Dude, you were like the cutest kid _ever_ , you know that right? To think, I came so close to robbing you of your innocence, _kind of_ , and I didn’t even-”

Patrick struggled and Pete inadvertently squeezed him tighter.  
“You’re so creepy dude, put me down!” Patrick laughed.  
“Okay," Pete said, pretending to almost drop Patrick, letting his grip slide and then reclaiming him triumphantly at the last minute.

  
Pete laughed loudly and obnoxiously, but when he brought Patrick back up to him, he saw that his friend was shaking and his breathing was heavy. He was scrabbling against Pete’s shirt for a handhold and when he found one, he clung to Pete, panting.

“Shit, dude, I’m so fucking sorry! Are you okay?”  
Patrick nodded silently, still without the breath to answer. Guiltily, Pete held him close and rubbed his fingers up and down Patrick's arms while Patrick collected himself.  
_Idiot!_ Patrick thought bitterly. He hated the terrified look on Pete’s face, like he’d done something wrong, like it wasn’t just because Patrick was a- _stop it._

  
“Sorry,” He panted, trying to aim for nonchalance, “You fucking scared me, Pete, I nearly _peed,_ you dick!”  
Pete’s eyes clouded for a moment and Patrick wasn’t sure what he said to upset him, but then Pete smiled that fucking smile and kissed him lovingly on the top of his head.

Something in it seemed overly sincere and Patrick told himself Pete was just handsy (the few occasions Patrick had met Pete’s proper friends - who he didn’t want to admit he was terrified of - Pete had practically, and sometimes literally, made out with a large proportion of them. If anything, Pete was _restraining_ himself with Patrick) but he could’t stop himself stiffening and holding his breath as he felt Pete’s lips in his hair. And- _oh god, this was literally the worst thing to ever happen to Patrick in his whole life and he actually hated being a fucking paraplegic teenager and couldn’t whoever was in that car have waited until he was old enough not to have what was left of his body betray him while he was being carried around, by his completely platonic best friend, holy fuck._

  
The ensuing attempt to move so he had the smallest amount of contact with Pete attracted his attention from where he had been chewing his lip distractedly.  "Hey, you okay, buddy?“  
Patrick was still undecided on the being called buddy, but Pete never meant it in a bad way and it was better than _Pattycakes_ and anyway Patrick was a little busy trying to think about dead cats and his grandma naked or preferably dead, naked grandma cats to be mad.

“Yeah. Just put me down, Pete.” It came out a little sharply. Pete’s face fell and he obeyed with a poorly concealed hurt expression. After snatching up his blanket and setting it over himself, folded over twice so it was thicker, Patrick reached out and brushed his hand over one of Pete’s, looking up to catch his eye, showing him he wasn’t mad. Patrick couldn’t really trust himself to speak so he stayed silent and let Pete figure out the door himself.

 

***

 

They walked in near silence, Pete mumbling things that would probably be poetic if Patrick could actually understand them at all. He stole glances at Pete when he could, letting them feed the frantic, disorientated whirring of his sexually frustrated brain. The night air had calmed him down a little _physically_ , but he felt like his brain was still super hard, if that was a thing. 

When Pete turned to him with the expectant expression of a child that just read a three-syllable word, Patrick swallowed thickly and mumbled, “Yeah.” He cringed at how his voice sounded. Pete heard it too and stopped, turned to look at Patrick with mild concern and asked if he was okay. In return, Patrick nodded frantically, keen to change the subject but Pete didn’t want to let go, not when he knew how Patrick got when something was bothering him.

  
“Really?” Pete frowned, in a way that indicated that he really didn’t believe him, at all.  
“ _Yes_ , Pete,” Patrick sighed, wishing for a hat to hide under, but none appeared.  
Satisfied after about a minute of scrutinisation, Pete demonstrated his unsettling talent of moving faster than light and doing something before anyone involved, including Pete himself, ( _especially_ Pete himself) was aware of what had happened. Patrick realised he was being hugged by Pete, very tightly, and instinctively clutched at him like he always did when Pete displaced him from seated comfort so quickly. Once the initial wave of terrifying unsteadiness retreated he hit Pete’s arm as hard as he could. Apparently there was some advantage to having stupidly small hands, because Pete yowled and all but dropped Patrick back to the away-from-Pete safety of his blanket and chair.

“…Are you still mad at me about the whole nearly-dropping-you thing?”

Patrick sighed and shook his head. Much as he wanted Pete off his back (and front) he knew Pete would be cut up about it all week and probably never really forgive himself.  
Pete made an impatient noise. “ _Talk_ to me, Tricky?” He said, slipping into that little-kid voice that had made Patrick hesitate the first time they’d met, “I thought you said I was meant to talk to you about stuff. Doesn’t that mean you have to talk to me, too?”

“I can’t talk to you about this, Pete. It’s not… it’s not a big deal. Can we just- I have school tomorrow. Can we head back?”

Pete stared back obstinately. _We’re not going back until you tell me._ They weren’t, either, because if Patrick sent Pete back while it was like this he’d feel awful about it and then neither of them would sleep. Patrick sighed and furrowed his brow, which he knew made him look like a pissed-off ten year old but he kind of looked like a ten year old anyway. “I had a dream-”  
Pete seemed to shrink back. “A _bad_ dream?” He near-whispered (as near as Pete Wentz came to quiet) in a small voice.  
“No- it was- no.”  
“A good dream?” Pete said in confusion.  
Patrick hummed to himself, thinking. “Yes.” He turned his head and looked up at Pete with big eyes. In reply, Pete tilted his head and looked thoughtfully at Patrick.

“Spit it out, Petey.” Patrick squinted at Pete’s cut up expression.  
Hiding behind his bangs and looking a lot like a shy teenage girl and a lot younger than Patrick had ever seen him, Pete mumbled, “You were saying my name in your sleep. It was like-”  
Pete went red and clenched his fists and his lips closed. It was obvious that he was mad at himself, for taking too much stock in something stupidly small like that.  
Patrick, red and stuttering, insisted that, “It wasn’t _sexual_!” He went even darker at Pete’s silence. “It _wasn’t_!”

They hung in the dark quiet until Patrick started. “Pete? Am I…” He didn’t know what he was going to say. _Pretty? Annoying? Enough?_  Then he thought of something in a rush and it was stupid, but what else is the night time for?

  
“Pete-” He tried again, “Um, so, like… I don’t have, y'know, a ton of _game_ and I’ve never been, uhm, kissed before so like I’ve been kind of. Thinking, recently and I think- not that I don’t _like_ girls - but I maybe. Like. Also- But I need like, a way to kno-”

  
Pete was rigid by the time Patrick came out of himself again, flailing with the exact request, and he could hear Pete’s swallow. “You want me to kiss you, so you can see if you’re into dudes?”  
Patrick wondered when Pete had put his hands into his pockets like that. His arms, legs, spine, every line in his body was tense and straight. He looked like a matchstick, silhouetted against the tree line. Unable to make his head nod or his mouth move, Patrick hoped the darkening in his eyes told Pete his answer.

When Pete did move, Patrick vowed to talk to him at some point about the sudden movement thing, flinching when Pete appeared, on hs knees in front of Patrick, lips inches away. Pete didn’t look capable of any movement, all of a sudden, so Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and ghosted his lips across the edge of Pete's, unsure what to expect. He was hoping he could catch a quick whisper of Pete’s chapped lips and then escape with his life and pretend nothing had happened.

Unfortunately, (who was Patrick kidding, it was totally fortunate) Pete didn’t miss a beat, taking Patrick’s head gently in his hands before Patrick’s lips could leave his, one hand in his hair and the other cupping his chin. With expertise that made Patrick momentarily jealous, of whoever gave Pete his experience, Pete tilted his head, guiding Patrick’s the other way until they slotted against each other. Patrick was hyper aware of sweating profusely and it took a moment to register Pete murmuring into him, “You have to open, Tricky.”

  
Obediently, Patrick did so which gave somewhere for a whimper to escape from (Patrick passed it off to himself as shock) as Pete gently slipped his tongue in Patrick’s mouth. Patrick shuddered and his brain went more or less blank and something went coursing through him whited out his thought process to static.

Patrick barely moved and instead allowed Pete to gently run his tongue along Patrick's lower lip and twist his hand in Patrick’s hair. The hand cupping his chin slid down to the neck of his shirt and fluttered there uncertainly. Pete moved it back to the nape of his neck and it stayed there, strangely rigid, until Patrick felt Pete retreat gently: his mouth relinquished its grip reluctantly but his hands almost flew off Patrick, who did need to breathe but still had to hold back a whimper or worse, mumbling Pete’s name.

  
Pete’s eyes were huge and dark and they searched Patrick’s face for a heavy moment before Pete dragged himself back up. Patrick reasoned with the set of Pete’s jaw, telling himself there was no reason for Pete to be angry, he was just imagining things, and clutched at his blanket uncertainly.  
Sounding like a chain smoker, Pete suggested that they go home.

 

***

 

The next day, they were happily pretending that last night hadn’t happened, playing one of those games with a lot of bulky male characters and a healthy dose of mindless killing.  
“I want to-” Pete swallowed, “I- You- you’ve never had a gir- relationship, Rick, and I know it’s because of the whole… _thing_ you’ve got going on where you really obviously don’t believe in yourself-”

A bright red Patrick was a common sight these days. “Really? I thought it was the whole other thing I have going on, where I’m a _cripple_ \- Look, I can’t even storm off to my room because it kind of takes away the dramatic effect when it takes me ten minutes to get into my chair and then I have to get _you_ to lift me onto the lift, you know, it doesn’t really give the desired effect. What’s your point, Pete?"

  
“ _See_!” Pete replied stubbornly. “It’s not the fucking wheelchair! Steven Hawking found someone and he can only move, like, his _eyes_ , and he’s like a tenth as hot as you-” Patrick registered mild irritation at only being ten times hotter as Stephen Hawking because, really, he respected the dude but he was like a 0.1 or something; Patrick hoped he was at least a four, “-and even on, like a shallow level you’ve got one big thing going for you that he doesn't-” Patrick blushed red at that, past the rage-blush he already showed - “and- And if the thing is that you aren’t interested in, you know, girls at all or something, I don’t know, but it’s not embarrassing or whatever, I’m not sure what you think, but it’s not really a big deal. I mean, you should kind of know that by now, Tricky. I don’t even know why you aren’t totally in love with yourself because I know you could totally get straight guys if you wanted them and if literally anyone talked to you for five minutes it must be impossible not to adore you and you should like soundproof your shower because if anyone hears you singing in there you’re going to get loads of people lining up at the door to meet you and if they come when I’m not here to charge entry fees, I’ll be super pissed because I had this idea the other day and I’m totally going to start a record label but I was googling it and turns out it actually takes a shit ton of money for that but I'll give you a record deal and you can just record yourself singing in the shower and did you know you breathe like a little baby when you sleep, not that I’m listening, it’s just really loud and I l-” he stopped at Patrick’s silence. Every visible inch of the Patrick was red, and he almost imagined he could feel the burning in his legs it was so strong.

“I’m sick of this.” Pete started again. Patrick’s heart sped with the irrational fear that Pete was going to be done with his obstinacy and his inability to show even an inch of respect towards himself. “Pete, please don’t lea-” He started, panicked, but cut himself off because that was stupid, Pete would never leave and even if he was that wouldn’t stop him.

Pete groaned loudly. “That’s, like, the _opposite_ of what I’m saying! Just, I- I don’t know how to do this. I know how I _usually_ do this, but I’m not doing that with you because it’s kind of rude and awful, especially since you’re like _five fucking years_ younger than me, but fuck, you’re just so… _Patrick_." 

Patrick exhaled loudly. "Fuck, you-” he struggled to explain himself as Pete paled, “You- Pete.” Patrick was aware that this wasn’t incredibly eloquent and spoke by using his arms to shuffle across the couch until he was pressed up against Pete and then managing somehow to manoeuvre himself so he straddled him. Pete groaned. “You’re _sixteen,"_  but it seemed more to himself, because he cradled Patrick’s head and rushed into him, pulling up short and coming in gently where he should have crashed, like he was restraining himself.  
Patrick squirmed and this time he didn’t have to restrain all the sounds he wanted to make into Pete’s mouth. He was panting hard and whimpering something that was mostly incoherent. Pete moaned, and Patrick thought it was something about his lips being dirty and grinned against Pete.

When they broke apart, Patrick pulling away first just so he wouldn’t have to feel like he was being left, Pete let out the loudest sigh possibly ever and Patrick shifted again to rest his head against Pete’s chest. Pete stroked his hair absently, other arm squeezing his waist tightly. The video game chattered in the background and Patrick considered never moving again. Once he managed to regulate his breathing he tilted his head and looked up at Pete.

Pete was doing the thing Patrick knew meant he was going back into himself and Patrick panicked. “Pete, don’t do that, _please_?” he begged.  
Pete looked down at him, squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re a ki- You just _think_ you want me, because I’m here and because you look, _fuck_ , you look up to me for some reason and you… it’s not-” He opened his eyes and looked into Patrick’s, trying to make him understand. “I _can’t_ fuck you up! You’re- well, I think you probably get how perfect I think you are ‘cause I never shut up about it. I _can’t_ fuck you up, Patrick! I’m not a good person. Good people don’t make out with vulnerable sixteen year olds and good people-”

  
Patrick struggled to sit up, not angry at Pete exactly. “…Spend half their life hanging around playing video games with super lame kids who can’t really do much fun stuff when said good people should be hanging out at cool rock clubs; drop whatever cute girl they only just got into the pants of because some kid, stupid kid, thought it would be clever to get drunk, alone at a party and carry him home and clean barf off him; make a kid feel like maybe the world isn’t always against him by caring for him so much; make a k- _me_ so happy and always be there for me and tell me how I’m not worthless and play with my hair and argue about music no one else cares about with me and make my mom laugh and-”  
Pete was laughing. Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. Pete leaned over and placed something between a kiss and a breath of hot air in his hair.  
Patrick shuffled back to his original position and they clung together until they were both asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no actual smut but references to sex and a slightly heated shower scene ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet you thought this would never happen!!! hmu @ saverockandsoulpvnk on tumblr, love you guys!

Patrick twitched, uncomfortable aware of his vibration. He couldn’t seem to stop quivering, even when he sensed someone come up behind him, felt them snatch the hat from his head.  
“You can’t wear a hat to prom.” Pete announced.

  
“Why not?”  
Pete shrugged. “I guess the generic, plural you - as in 'one' - can, technically. But _you_ can’t, because I have confiscated your hat.

  
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. So it seems that the main issue is the hat confiscation, _so_ , the solution is evidently the return of the hat, by you.” Patrick aimed for patience but almost certainly missed.  
This, evidently, was not the response Pete wanted. “Love,” he had the nerve to sigh, like _he_ was the long-suffering one, “As your legal guardian, I’m not letting you wear a hat to your junior prom.”

Patrick fought the urge to growl at Pete, aiming for casually exasperated. “You’re not my _legal guardian._ Where the hell do you even get this stuff?”  
“Fine, the legal guardian of you heart, whatever. No hat. In a few years, you’ll be so glad I didn’t let you. You’re totally drowning in bangs anyway, so if you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re secretly Harry Potter, you’re safe.”

That, Patrick didn’t even dignify with a response, instead sitting with his arms crossed, scowling at Pete. Pete’s idea of a solution was to sing, ‘Trickyyyy!” in a worryingly high falsetto, and duck down to brush his lips across Patrick’s nose.

  
At that moment, Patrick’s mother appeared, both of Pete's parents in tow, swinging a camera threateningly. Pete beamed. Patrick cowered into a Pete-hating ball. “Please, mom,” he begged.

“Come on, Patrick. You’ll be glad of it in a few years. Just a few pictures - Oh, you look lovely!” she added, condensing a remarkable level of mom-ness into one small monologue.   
  
Pete was prepared, which made Patrick hate him even further as he flung himself into the chair beside him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and grinned at the camera. Hating the way he instinctively relaxed into Pete’s touch, Patrivk aimed a haphazard half-smile somewhere in the vicinity. 

  
Clucking at the few picture’s they’d taken, The Parents begged in unison for just one more picture and Patrick hated _them_ nearly as much as he hated Pete.  
Pete, who chose Patrick’s distraction as the perfect moment to steal a kiss, on camera.

He hated Pete’s easygoing confidence almost as much as he loved it, sighing against Pete’s lips and battling to keep it PG when he felt Pete’s answering smirk. 

When they broke apart, Patrick was ridiculously red, Pete was ridiculously smug, and their families all gazed adoringly at Pete.

***

They couldn’t really have any special transport, thanks to Patrick. On the journey, in Patrick’s shitty family minivan, Pete complained that his dream of arriving to prom on horseback -with his skirts flowing every which way and some fair maidens attending to him - had been ruined. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“It’s not even your prom. You could’ve done that at your prom if you really wan-" he trailed off to stare in speechless horror at Pete's wrist. " _Oh no_. So I’m not allowed to wear a hat but you’re allowed… _that_?”

Pete, who was in the process of tying a corsage around his wrist, looked up to bare his teeth at Patrick, in a self-satisfied grin. “Yup.” Apparently he didn’t care to offer a reason, just handed Patrick a matching buttonhole.

“I’m not wearing that. You’re so _embarrassing_ ,” Patrick muttered. Pete did his best to look heartbroken. The attention was taken away from his face by the corsage, a lurid red that was more glittery than could ever be necessary.

He gave up when Patrick didn’t,  leaning in for a kiss. Aiming for indignant, Patrick let him brush his lips gently and then tried to pull away but Pete was ready, cupping his chin and forcing his lips open.

 Patrick let out a whimper of surprise when Pete managed to pull him almost into his lap, half straddling Pete’s leg, and deepened the kiss without pausing for breath. He nibbled on Patrick’s bottom lip until he got overzealous and bit too hard and Patrick yelped, trying to struggle free.

Pete just slid his lips down over Patrick’s jaw and resumed his affectionate biting there and when Patrick’s breathing got heavier, he felt Pete’s smirk against his bruised skin. Immediately after he felt Pete’s thigh in between his legs, grinding into him with intention and tipped his head back, panting for a few breaths before he remembered where he was and pushed Pere away.

  
“I’m not having _sex_ with you in the car on the way to prom,’ he groaned. He proceeded not to back this up with his actions, which included whimpering shamelessly between words and letting his traitorous hands skip across the buttons of Pete’s shirt, which was now undone in the middle, creating the perfect hole to get his hands in, which he promptly did.

Busily trying to see if he could feel the hole where Pete had taken out his nipple piercing, Patrick barely heard Pete protest.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Pete got out with effort, otherwise occupied with the slow, filthy grind of his leg, “ _Oh god_ \- Just - _shit, uh_ \- cancel prom, we’ll just stay in here- _Jesus -_ fuck, you gotta stop doing that shit, I can’t concentrate on anything.” At that, Patrick looked up, guilty but not apologetic, from where he’d been quite determinedly licking at the dip in Pete’s collarbone.

  
“I thought,” Patrick said breathlessly, painfully aware of the redness of his lips and the mess his hair was in (the same hair that his mom, Pete, and even Pete's mom had all spent the entire evening fussing over with numerous combs) “You said this was ‘The Most Important Night of My Life’.”

  
Pete looked sullen. “That was like two hours ago! Times are changing, my dear. Anyway I didn’t say why it would be important. The first time you and I make sweet love in a car is pretty important?” he suggested hopefully.

  
Patrick wrinkled his nose at Pete and smacked him. Although being with Pete made him forget about his legs a lot of the time, other times it made their absence painfully obvious when he couldn't give Pete the kicking he deserved. “Help me back in my seat. I don’t trust you to control yoursel- _what the fuck?_ ” His wail of despair was triggered when he noticed the sparkly abomination tucked neatly in his buttonhole.

“I,” Pete declared with a self-satisfied air, “Am sneaky.”  
“Yeah,” Patrick hummed fondly, back in his righteous place but curled into Pete’s side. “Okay, can we make a deal? I wear this, and you promise no PDAs.”

“But I want everyone to see how cute my baby is when he get embarrassed!” Pete illustrated his point by diving in for another surprise kiss, yelping when Patrick caught him and held him off.

  
“Pete… it’s _high school_ \- please?” Patrick watched Pete’s eyes fill with understaning and soften. He groaned like he knew Patrick was right but he didn’t want him to be. “Hey, you’re the one who chose to date a dude!” Patrick argued.

Pete looked at him, the fight gone from his eyes but still looking decidedly sullen. “ _Fuck_ kids!” he exclaimed, then huffed out a soft breath and wrapped an arm around Patrick and pulled him into his shoulder. “But I didn’t choose to date you. I _had_ to."

***

They arrived early so Patrick could get easliy into the hall. He had refused to cross the threshold until he got a promise from Pete to be perfectly platonic. Pete had grinned and insisted on calling him by his last name and punching him slightly too hard every time either of them said anything mildly amusing.

After about five minutes of this, Patrick sighed. “Give it up, Pete. I don’t think you really get how straight people work. Just be you, but less making out with me.”

  
“Ah, but that’s impossible, my dear Pattycakes, you see; it is my very _nature_ \- my very _DNA!_ \- to love you, and thus if I were to be myself, that would include making out with you.”

Patrick shook his head and spotted Joe, proceeding to wave and yell him over. There were’t many people there yet but Joe was managing to be talking to most of them anyway. He excused himself and wandered over.

In lieu of a greeting, he eyed the corsage on Pete’s wrist and the matching one Patrick wore in his suit and gave Patrick a knowing look which made Patrick red and kind of spluttery.  
“Doesn’t he look beautiful?” Pete said proudly, under the deceptive premise of a question.

  
“I’m, uh, not really in a position to comment,” Joe said easily, “And I’ve got a feeling I’d be in trouble with you whatever I said.”  
At that moment, Patrick felt very grateful for Joe. “Pete, babe, go and get me a drink?”

Pete glared at Joe and skulked off, but Joe was used to Pete and his possessiveness and just smiled. “I’ll look after him,” he promised sweetly.

  
“Well that gives us about ten seconds of peace,” Patrick joked. Joe frowned in a way that could only indicate he was trying to calculate the exact distance between the punch bowl, and relate it to Pete’s average walking speed. "He moves _fast_ ,” Patrick assured him fearfully.

  
“He’s- he’s good to you, though.” Joe’s reply was soft and unexpected. When he looked up, Patrick saw his eyes were more than a little glazed. _Stoner_.  
“Yeah.” Patrick swallowed.

  
Pete chose that moment to reappear, bearing two cups and the smile Patrick was a little ashamed to admit he couldn’t live without. He regarded Pete with the new-found appreciation that could only come with weird words from the pretty high.

  
When Pete bent down to place his drink in the cup-holder, Patrick caught his hand and squeezed tightly, releasing it reluctantly and dragging his fingers across Pete’s palm. He gave Pete a wide-open smile, bearing his entire self on his face for a quiet second. He lover Pete for the way his eyes lit up and his face softened.

However, when Pete dipped down to kiss him, Patrick just raised an eyebrow at the crowd of kids beggining to swarm in. Pete pouted and straightened awkwardly. Joe watched them with smug amusement the whole time, shrugging at Pete’s glare.

He smiled when Pete handed him the other drink, which meant he hadn't gotten one for himself. Honestly, Pete wasn’t half as selfish as people liked to make out. Patrick smiled up at him again.  
Miming gagging, Joe said, “Man, you two make me sick. I’m out.” He promtly disappeared with a Pete-like skill for sudden movement.

Onice they were alone, Pete turned on Patrick with a predatory look that made Patrick watch him warily. “ _What_?”  
“Dance with me?”  
Patrick frowned. “Pete, I’m not being that asshole. I’d just embarrass myself and get in everyone’s way.”

  
“Embarrassing yourself: good. Getting in everyone’s way: even better. Carry on like that and you could one day be _almost as annoying as me_ ,” Pete announced seriously.

Subtly, Patrick took his hand. He spoke quietly, so as not to be heard. “I love you so much. Not dancing with you, though. Come here, get a chair and we can watch everyone make an idiot of themselves and I’ll let you hold my hand?”

Pete sighed and headed towards the corner of the room where a few chairs were clustered. It was dark and empty and surprisingly lacking in couples making out, for such perfect, secluded makeout spot. Patrick followed slower, having to manoeuvre between clusters of people, but he eventually backed up next to Pete.

Arranging himself so he could lean his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, he let Pete slide their fingers together. Feeling Pete’s breath ghosting across his hair and making it ripple softly, Patrick was amazed by the simple perfection of the moment.

  
***

  
Patrick definitely wouldn’t have minded the age-old prom tradition of staying out all night and losing his virginity in the back of a van, but he was home by eleven. He hated making his mom worry so he'd insisted on being back before midnight, even when she gave Pete a not-so-subtle appraising look and nervously permitted them both to stay out all night.

It wasn’t like there was a particular rush: the exact mechanics of Patrick’s situation made everything trickier and probably completely ruled out back-of-van debauchery. Besides, although they hadn’t actually fucked, Patrick had basically dropped to his knees (with difficulty) the second he turned seventeen and Pete had been returning the favour pretty regularly since then.

Predictably, Pete wanted to make Patrick’s first actual time ‘special’ in some way Patrick couldn’t conceive, considering how he was pretty sure doing that with Pete was going to be special no matter if it was in a hotel with rose petals or in his bedroom on a Friday night. He imagined he’d be too busy to look closely at his surroundings.

  
Patrick’s age and inexperience was probably also a factor in Pete’s plans, much to the younger boy’s frustration, but as a wheelchair-bound seventeen year old, he wasn’t complaining about the blowjobs, or the handjobs, or the barely-clothed grinding on Pete’s bed when his parents weren’t home. Thus, he didn’t feel a huge need to rush into anything more - especially not when his mom would know exactly what he was doing, which he didn’t really think would be much of a turn-on.

  
Pete had bought a six pack at some point and, in the name of tradition, driven them to a nice stargazing spot and they’d sat on the hood of Patrick’s car, watching the stars and drinking. When Patrick got drunk enough that he started slipping off and squealing, Pete lifted him up and put him back in the passenger seat. They kissed lazily for some incalculable moments and then Pete drove them home: he was still more-or-less sober, Patrick just couldn’t hold his liquor.

  
They managed not to giggle as they made their way inside. A note on the table from Patrick’s mom said she’d gone to bed and there were leftovers in the refrigerator if they wanted them (she supposed they wouldn’t) and that she hoped they had fun but she just couldn’t keep her eyes open to wait for them.

Pete handled the chairlift scenario with practiced ease, stealing about ten kisses in the process, and headed for the bedroom to get changed into his pyjamas.

Unfathomably, Patrick’s mom was perfectly happy at all times for Pete to stay the night - in Patrick’s _bed_ with him (“Uh, does she know what gay actually _means_? She knows I’m not just your, like, ‘special friend’, right?” "I think she just doesn't give a shit anymore.") and Pete was perfectly comfortable happly her up on it.

Patrick stopped by the door.  
“I was thinking of going in the shower - you coming?” Patrick was pretty capable of washing himself, usually in the bath -  but he’d been with Pete long enough that they were easily comfortable taking showers together.

Especially as it was often a necessity - or it was according to Patrick, who admittedly played up his lack of ability in this area. But who wouldn’t, to get themselves in the shower with the most beautiful person they’d ever seen?  
  
“Depends,” Pete leered, “Is it a _sexy_ shower?”  
“You’re a monster.”  
“Sweet! What kind? I’ve always felt the sensitive vampire kind of thing, but were you thinking more like a strong, handsome werewolf with uncontrollable passion - A sexy, sexy sex-wolf?" Pete’s eyes glazed over slightly and Patrick worried he wasn’t even joking.

  
“Every time you say 'sex’ there’s less _actual_ sex going to happen.” Patrick’s mother was in the next room, so he tried to set an example to Pete by whispering. Horrified, Pete gasped loudly. “Okay, Okay, no more s-word. Shower time,” he yelped and practically dived into Patrick’s en-suite.  
  
One advantage of their arrangement was that Patrick got to sit still and stare unashamedly at Pete as he undressed, without having to reciprocate at all until Pete was down to his boxers and came to help. And yeah, Patrick could easily remove his own shirt but it was a fair enough exchange: considering that he couldn’t walk, he really deserved to be allowed to take advantage of Pete’s rough fingers stroking up his side as he pulled it over Patrick’s hair, his lips resting either on Patrick’s head or mouth when he couldn’t resist the image of his boyfriend’s ruffled hair and peaceful expression. It wasn’t like it was a huge chore for Pete either.

Getting Patrick’s pants off was less tender and more of a two-person effort, huge mess, all-out wriggling on both sides, and general disaster, but once it was done they both sagged in relieved triumph, giggling quietly.  
  
There was a lot of skin on skin contact as Pete helped them both to standing and staggered over to the shower. He let Patrick grip his handle on the wall, hurrying out of his boxers as he stared at Patrick’s white knuckles gripping it for dear life, and rejoined Patrick, gently gripping his waist.

  
Can I?“ Pete asked. He wasn’t hard, but Patrick’s underpants were bulging - understandable, for an seventeen year old boy when faced with that much nudity. Pete knew that sometimes when this happened he preferred to keep his boxers on and just get them wet.

Other times, he let Pete remove them and those times usually ended in at least jerking each other off. Pete bit his lip hopefully and felt himself get a little hard, grinding into Patrick’s thigh to prove his intentions.  
  
Now sporting a full on semi, Patrick managed impressively to roll his eyes and nod with full composure. Between them, they nearly fell about ten times in the process but Pete discarded the underwear to the side and turned on the shower.

Patrick immediately pressed up against him but Pete shook his head, grinning, and spun him around. Patrick whined, still clutching the handle with one hand. He could stand up by himself but it was unsteady, especially with the slippery surface, and he was pretty sure Pete was too busy staring at his ass to be of any help at all if he fell.

 

Humming terribly, Pete shampooed Patrick’s hair thoroughly and then had the wise idea to add a kiss on Patrick’s head. He realised his mistake when he ended up with an eyeful of soap. Painstakingly, using his hands and the handle to haul himself around, Patrick faced Pete, informed him exactly how much of an idiot he was, and rubbed away the soap with his free hand.

Patrick couldn't adjust the position of his feet, so they were a little too far back to easily reach Pete, about a foot away from him. They both leaned forwards and teepeed against eachother. "There, you’re fine now. I can’t reach the shower head, rinse it off?”

 

Through complaint about his eye Pete obliged. " _There_ , I'm clean now, come _on_ ," Patrick complained, putting his free hand on Pete's dripping chest. "It's my prom, right? I have to make memir-" 

"Okay, Okay, shut _up_ ," Pete's remaining resolve collapsed and it was all he could do not to fall onto Patrick, which would be a terrible idea and land them both in the emergency room. Instead, he carefully rook Patrick's waist and coaxed his hand off the safety handle. "It's all right, I got you."

Frustratingly, Pete had to choose between the damp warmth of their two bodies pressed together under the stream, clinging to eachother, Pete needing Patrick just to exist just as much as Patrick needed Pete to balance; and actually having any free hands to _do_ anything. 

Pete surprised himself by realising that he wanted the former more strongly. He clung to Patrick, breathing in his soap-smelling hair. "I don't have enough hands right now - or you don't have enough legs-" Patrick giggled into Pete's chest and, clinging to Pete's shoulder for support with one hand, used his other hand to grab his thigh and walk himself closer, one leg at a time.

It was strange to watch but he quickly arranged himself so that he couldn't physically get any further forward, and his legs were wide-set for balance. It made him shorter, so he only came about up to Pete's shoulder. He let his head hook over Pete's shoulder and nosed at the thorn tattoo around his neck. It was still a little sore and Pete winced at the pain but didn't dislike it. 

There was no room between their bodies for Pete to reach down and do anything so he just stayed still as Patrick's hand came up to trace around his navel, the other still firmly around Pete's waist. He continued to nose the thorns until his tongue darted our and he began licking at it carefully, giving way to teeth as he nipped at the spot, laughing softly when Pete squirmed and whined. 

They stayed like that, Patrick's gentle probing with his tongue and one hand, Pete's muffled whimpering. The water started to run cold. Both of them felt it slowly cool down; neither wanted to be the one who stopped first. Eventually, Patrick pulled away, looking up the stream of water and blinking droplets out of his eyes.

 

He looked perfect like that, like Aphrodite rising out of the ocean. Long gold eyelashes dripping with water, face crinkled up into a childlike grimace, he was definitely an angel. "Pete, I'm cold." Ah yes, the words of an angel. Pete wasn't actually sure what he'd said but in that voice, with that glistening, dripping mop of hair and those immaculate, ivory thighs, he was definitely an angel. 

 

"PETE! I'm freezing, turn it off and get me dry, you little bitch!"

"Huh? Oh, oh yeah, um, one sec..." dazed, Pete reached to stop the stream of now icy droplets. Over months of the same routine, he'd developed a perfect procedure for getting them out of the shower.

Usually, it was easier because Patrick was sated and sleepy and didn't bitch at Pete but apparently someone hasn't set the water heater on earlier. He supported Patrick's waist as he nervously transferred his grip from Pete to the handle. Pete then hopped from the cubicle in one move, followed by Patrick's envious eyes, and wrapped himself in a towel, teeth chattering lightly. Once dry-ish, he took another towel and returned to Patrick, who was shivering, and rubbed up his legs to dry them.

About three-quarters up Patrick's thigh, he started mewling and bucking into the towel. "Really? You've just had a cold shower." But Pete envied the friction it must provide, enjoyed the image of Patrick blushing but desperate for a while before he decided Patrick's mom really wouldn't appreciate what was happening to her monogrammed towels. 

Especially not what was going to happen if Pete continued for probably another three minutes. With great effort, he continued up Patrick's body and dried his torso gently, wrapping the towel around him and letting him take hold of it before letting go. 

 Pete couldn't resist sucking briefly on Patrick's neck as he carried him to the bed and set him down. Patrick pushed him off. "Not where my mom can see," he grunted. Pete found two sets of pajamas while Patrick worked off his prosthetics.

Pete never brought his own pajamas when there was the option to wear Patrick's, which smelled like Patrick. There were only a few pairs of full-leg pants, possibly there especially for Pete, or for some other inexplicable reason, but they smelled like Patrick nonetheless and Pete stole a pair for himself and a pair of shorts for Patrick, plus two different shirts.

He handed it all to Patrick and they switched their shirts in unison, eerily mimicking each others movement. With practised ease, Pete changed Patrick's pants and his own, lifted Patrivk into the air again and leapt into the bed at such an angle that Patrick was barely jarred, shuffling around until they were facing eachother and tangled together.

 

"Pete," Patrick whispered, "I don't know what that cold shower did for you but it didn't do much for me, and i'm not going to be able to sleep unless you, huh, give me a hand."

"Patience, grasshopper."

"Wow, you sure know how to get me in the mood."

  


End file.
